


Mouths, Hands, and Sewing Thread

by sharkduck



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Power Play, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Safe BDSM practices and etiquette, Safe Sane and Consensual
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 21:02:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29338743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharkduck/pseuds/sharkduck
Summary: A series of snippets, odds and ends, AUs, and bonus content forTongues, Teeth, and Beskar Steel.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Original Male Character(s), The Mandalorian/Original Male Character(s)
Kudos: 7





	Mouths, Hands, and Sewing Thread

**Author's Note:**

> stop looking at me i WILL destroy you if you perceive this.

He can feel his head trying to split itself open as he leans forward. His elbows rest on his knees like birds while he buries his head in his hands - hiding. From this. Whatever responsibilities he's supposed to have now.

There's a hand on his shoulder, the nerves dulled underneath the armor. Din looks up to see Griff staring down at him with tight brows and that characteristic wrinkle in his forehead. His presence by itself isn't enough to calm him - but it helps. He sighs when he places a hand over Griff's palm and tangles their fingers together.

"Everything is so - strange," he mumbles. No prompting - he knows that look. "So different from what we were taught growing up. So-"

"Foreign?"

He lets out a quiet, huffing half-chuckle. "Yeah. That's the word." A foreigner in his own country; it fits with everything else he's been through lately. He and Griff both. His arms move like droids, trying to avoid scraping this stupid fancy armor against the throne (he misses his old set more than anything) and plants Griff's hand against his chest. He looks at him. He's so much better at this whole - leadership _thing._ He should be wearing this armor. Sitting on this throne.

Din tries to imagine what Griff would look like in this big chair.

"You should be sitting here," he murmurs, watching Griff's eyebrows steadily climb up towards his hairline. "You should be wearing this armor too. You'd look better in it."

"I don't know about that," Griff breathes, and the half-lidded, slow way he drags his eyes over Din's arms, chest, legs - his brain oh-so-conveniently decides to short circuit at the base of his skull. Stops working entirely as it reboots, and the first question out of his mouth is both very stupid and has a very obvious answer, now that he thinks about it. But he doesn't have the processing power to keep his mouth shut when Griff is looking at him like that.

"Do you like seeing me like this?" He sounds dumb as rocks saying it out loud.

Griff turns red and coughs into his hand with his head turned.

"I - like seeing you in anything."

"But do you like _this?_ " He motions his free hand to the armor, the throne, the general palace area with its achingly empty rooms. Puzzle pieces click together in his brain. They should have been obvious before now. "Do you have a thing for it?"

"Maybe. I - maybe." _Shit._

Suddenly the armor feels very heavy on his back. The slow shudder that creeps down his spine could rattle it with the way it makes him shiver. He guides Griff's hand down and watches him open-mouthed stare, eyes half closed as he rests his palm on his stomach.

"We're-"

"In the throne room," he cuts him off rapid fire, wanting so, so badly to guide Griff's hand down, but the panels of his armor are very much in the way. Griff is still staring at his armor and the throne like they're more than enough to get him off - maybe they _are_. "I know. No one's - no one's gonna come in here. I wanted to be alone. Do you need to stop?" He watches Griff's Adam's apple bob as he swallows and Maker does he want to bite the space beneath it. He feels like a rabid dog.

"No. What," he shudders, bites his lip when Din uses his free hand, the one closest to Griff's side, to press the pad of his thumb into the hollow of his throat. "What do you want?" He curls his fingers around Griff's neck. Thinking.

Din remembers the moment Griff saw him with the darksaber, how he looked kneeling on the ship's floor. Staring oh-so-reverently. At the time, it made him feel the not-good kid of strange, but now-

Once again Din Djarin speaks without thinking. "I want you on your knees."

Griffs sucks in a hard breath and bites his lip until it's white. And then he gets up, moves to stand in front of the throne, and sinks down low and slow until he's kneeling right between Din's open thighs. He keeps his eyes trained on Din's face the entire time. The armor is the only thing keeping his cock from jumping clear out of his pants.

He lets out a slow breath and absently reaches for his waistband, fingers scuttling around the latches that keep his cup and panels on. Distracted, because Griff does look good like this, the sunlight hitting his hair and bringing out the shades of blue and brown in molten strands, his eyes sparkling black onyx. _Pretty._

He gets frustrated.

"I know - I know you usually like being bossy but-"

"Tell me what to do."

Din stares at Griff for a very long time. Stock still. Processing. Watching Griff's eyes flicker to the wall, anywhere but him, cheeks red. He wants to demand that he look at him, to watch him. He wants to see the pretty glint of brown in his eyes when the sunlight hits them and the way his face flushes. Maker. Would he - would Din feel good about this? Would he feel good about feeling good about it?

"Safe word?" He breathes, watching Griff fumble for a response.

"Same thing as last time?"

He swallows and steels his face and tries for his sternest voice.

"Look at me," he says, and he has to consciously keep himself from jumping at the iron tone he takes - he can surprise even himself sometimes. Griff jolts, and his eyes snap, wide, to Din's face. He can feel the fierce frown he has on his mouth; it's not hard to keep it on. It's his usual expression most of the time anyway, but part of him worries he's getting too into it. But Griff will stop him if he goes too far, he knows that. Trusts him enough to do that.

"I want you to look at me when you pull my cock out and put it in your mouth. Understand?"

Griff makes a choked sound from deep in his throat and his hands fly right to Din's armor, eagerly tugging at clasps until the panels clatter to the floor, completely forgotten as soon as they're out of the way. His hand feels good against him, hot and calloused, tugging. Din leans back and lets Griff do his job.

He spits, once, into the palm of his hand to make things that much easier and more pleasant for both of them. True to Din's demand, Griff keeps their eyes locked into orbit as he strokes him. Slow, gentle. He doesn't close his eyes as he takes the blushing head of his prick into his mouth, and Din clenches his teeth against the want to roll his head back and close his eyes. He wants to watch. That's the whole point.

"Good boy," he mumbles, his hand cradling the back of Griff's skull. He feels the full body shudder rip through Griff like a title wave, vibrating his cock in his mouth as he bobs his head.

He never knew this was a thing. Griff has always been so - forward. Likes giving orders. Likes being the one to tease. This is a new side of him.

Part of Din is flattered that Griff is trusting him with this. Another part of him hopes to all the heavens that he's a good enough person to treat him right.

Mostly it makes him _indescribably_ horny.

He watches Griff move, leaving his shaft slick and twitching before it's swallowed again by his willing mouth. When he pulls back to run his tongue over his head, leaking and beaded, Din lets out a low, low growl. He grabs the back of Griff's head and shoves, down, impatient, until his nose touches the soft muscle of his belly. Watches his eyes go wide and then roll closed, his moan loud even around Din's cock. He's panting as he curls both hands in Griff's hair and lets him bob his head faster now, encouraged. Somehow with those shaking hands he manages to get his balls out of their prison and help them along too.

Too much. Too warm. Too slick.

He pulls Griff's head off his prick ( _gently_ ) and the whine Griff makes is downright sinful. He almost wants to let him keep going, but he's not as young as he used to be - he and Griff both.

He takes a moment to check in on his - _partner_ , is maybe the word he's looking for. Bleary-eyed and bruise-lipped, a small river of drool dribbling over his chin. Maker.

"S-"

Griff cuts him off by climbing into his lap and pressing his crotch right into his thigh. Din can feel how hard and wanting he is, even the half inch he grinds against the thermal mesh at his leg. Straining not to do it again, to not make Din's thigh his source of pleasure.

"Don't you dare apologize to me, Din Djarin," he says, voice hoarse. "If I didn't l ike it, I'd let you know." He relaxes a little, knowing Griff isn't doing this for - some reason. Why else would he do it? What ulterior motive would he have? Din can't think, not with the way Griff is looking at him, begging with his eyes. When Din reaches down to palm the bulge in Griff's pants, the way he whimpers and clutches the arm of the throne is more than enough. His hands make quick work of getting his lower half bare, molten copper skin lined with scars as Din turns him around and holds his knees up.

He squeaks. It's very cute.

"You," he growls, right up against the bare skin of Griff's neck. "Every time I hold court, all I'll be able to think about is fucking you in front of everyone here. How they get to see you on my cock, right where you belong. Just so they know you're _mine._ " Din has no idea where any of this is coming from; he speaks from a primal place deep in his chest. Rumbles against Griff's back as he grinds up and misses his mark, too busy licking a stripe against his pulse. Words he doesn't believe (mostly - he doesn't really believe he owns Griff; everything else is fair game) but knows Griff would like.

And he does like it. He bites his hand the way he does when he's getting hot, moans around it, lets Din hoist his legs up and spread him for the audience of closed doors and empty marble. Playing out his fantasies in his head as he works himself open with slick fingers and listens as Din tells him how much he wants him.

"Maker-" He reaches down to help guide Din in, all but sobbing with desperation, " _please_ fuck me, oh god-"

He slides in, warm and eager, and it occurs to Din that he's going to have to do a helluva lot of work to get them both off.

Doesn't matter. He's happy to do it.

The pace he sets has Griff screaming, until he covers his mouth with his own hand. Somehow Din manages to encourage him to lean back, to let himself relax, to let Din make him feel good. He turns his head until it's buried into the crook of Din's neck. Griff's muffled moans and shouts still ring over the empty marble, and Din is glad he's sent everyone but the essential staff home today. He watches Griff's back arch and clenches his teeth as Griff tightens up light a spring and spills everything he has.

Griff comes in thick ropes onto his unfortunate shirt, onto Din's arm, the floor - messy. Messy and boneless and Din doesn't (can't) move. Maker he's so close, so so close - but he's much slower now. Careful not to do too much, as Griff lays limply against his chest and lets him come deep.

They're both panting, sweaty and sticky, dizzy with the aftershocks. Din pulls his softening cock out and curls into Griff's back.

"You okay?" He mumbles, nuzzling into the bitemark he left. Griff hums. Nods his head.

"You?" Din nods with a quiet _mhm._ Sleepy already, just like always.

They should clean up here. Make it at least a little presentable before they leave instead of torturing the poor cleaning staff. Griff looks at his shirt and wrinkles his nose, before electing to just take it off and use it to wipe up the mess. Din makes a sound like a wounded animal.

"What? I'll wash it."

"That's your _shirt,_ you damned fool." Griff whaps him with one of the sleeves.

"I'll wash it! It's not like either of us just carry a rag around with us." Din watches the slow smile creep onto his lips and something beneath his waistband twitches like it desperately wants to get up on its legs. "Although we probably should, considering." He coughs, looks away, and Griff is back to his usual self, teasing him by tipping his chin and pressing a nibbling kiss to the corner of his mouth.

"You're a demon," he says, "sent here to torture me forever." He groans and buries his face into Griff's shoulder, letting him card his hands through his hair and kiss the crown of his head.

"Indeed. Come on - we should get a bath."

The fall into bed afterwards scrubbed clean and tangled in each other's legs, snoring while they nap. It's - good. Din thinks he can tolerate this after all, if Griff is alright with being in his arms in the nights afterwards. 


End file.
